


The Firebearer's Dogs

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [8]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Secret Identity, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short stories about elves and men working as agents of Gandalf the Gray, the bearer of Narya, the Ring of Fire, and going on errands for the Wizard.</p><p>New Chapter 4: Slave children weren't on the shopping list. </p><p>New Chapter 5:  Finduilas of Dol Amroth is not an ordinary child, and she needs the Lady Galadriel's help. Badly enough to hitch a ride with her father and his fellow spies on a desperate mission for the Wizard. </p><p>New Chapter 6: In which Finduilas asks for Galadriel's aid, and shares a truth - sometimes you have to give up great power to win, even though it is counter-intuitive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Counting by Nines

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary: The dangers of running secret errands for wizards, or how did Elladan and Melpomaen know Adrahil?
> 
> A/N: Thanks to KC, for letting me borrow some of your ideas regarding characterization of Adrahil.
> 
> Except for the Prologue and Epilogue, the action is set in approximately T.A. 2955.

Prologue: Gondor, the Citadel in Minas Tirith, in about Fourth Age Year 7 or 8.

"Multiplication is stupid." Crown Prince Eldarion complained, a grumpy frown on his usually sunny face.

The boy's younger twin uncle, Lord Elladan of Imladris, leaned forward with a faintly disapproving frown, "Eldarion, hating something doesn't make it go away, or become less odious. Seek instead to find a way to truly insult the subject matter by showing it to be flawed, or in the case of multiplication - a necessary skill - simply learn it and move on with your life."

Eldarion forcefully threw his math book at the wall, and then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms petulantly, "If I need to multiply something, I can just get an accountant to do it, like Fara does."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, but worried by his nephew's unaccustomed outburst, Elladan corrected, "I can assure you that Faramir knows his times tables, that he learned them as a boy. He does have accountants on his staff, as does your father on his, but only in order to assist with more complicated tasks. Such as setting the budget for the kingdom, export and import balances, and..." Noting the pinched, strained look on Eldarion's face, Elladan cut himself off, "What's really bothering you?"

Eldarion's shoulders shook, and Elladan crossed the room to take the youngster in his arms.

"Ada...and Fara, they're late." Eldarion said softly, worriedly. "The last time Fara was this late, he...he DISAPPEARED. For almost a year."

"It was only six months," Elladan corrected absently, giving his nephew a reassuring hug. "But that last time Faramir was, ah, alone. And unsupported. This time your father has gone with him, along with a number of trusted associates and a small army, and the task is a more straightforward one."

Eldarion sighed, but allowed himself to feel reassured. He went and fetched his math book, and told his Uncle, "I'm on nine's. Eight's were easier."

"Nine is quite a number," Elladan agreed, sympathy in his voice as he remembered a story from his past, and offered, "Before we continue with this, if you would like, I will tell you a story, counting by nines."

Eldarion smiled eagerly, "Well, it sounds better than multiplication."

Huffing a laugh, Elladan hugged his nephew again, and began his story.

Counting by Nines - Mordor near the Ithilien Border, in approximately T.A. 2955.

Adrahil had survived nine days as the enemy's captive. The aging human prince bore nine wounds that could still kill him, if fate was not kind, or if Elladan and his fellow warrior-healer, Ecthelion of Greenwood, had made a mistake in their frantic diagnosis and care. Over five thousand and nine years of experience healing wounds between the two elves. Sometimes it was not enough.

Nine miles to the border, but it might as well be nine thousand. The pursuit was too close.

Nine minutes separated Elladan from being Elrond's first son and heir, from being far, far away from here. Today, it was good, for he was the better healer of he and his brother. Yesterday, he had regretted he had not been born first, for Elrohir could have won the orc lieutenant's captive free less dearly.

Nine they had been nine weeks ago, but humans were so fragile. Only Adrahil survived, almost an old man. On their first trek, nine journeys ago, he had been the youngest of them, only twenty and nine.

"No time for woolgathering, Eradan." Interrupted the dark haired ellon with the almond eyes.

Nine weeks as Eradan. Never again. This was the last "favor" Elladan would do for the Ithron, if he even survived. Nine hundred thousand years before Elrohir would forgive him, if he did not.

Nine leaders of men dead from unidentifiable poisons, deaths that could be prevented in the future, if what Adrahil had learned at such cost could be delivered to Gandalf. More dead than alive, Adrahil had told them nine times the way the poisons were made, not believing he would survive this adventure. Nine times Elladan had told Adrahil he was wrong; he would live. Nine times Ecthelion's face had tightened, for Theli hated to lie to a patient, and none of them were sure that Adrahil would live. Though they both hoped.

If Elladan were Gandalf, he would have slit his friend's throat as a mercy nine hours ago, then separated his surviving fellows to ride in different directions, dividing the pursuit and giving them the best chance that one of the nine who had set out would make it back to the Wizard.

But Elladan was not Gandalf. Nor was he Elrohir. He was a healer first, and he would not kill where there was hope.

Hope. Estel had been nine years old the last time the Wizard had said, "Just one more time, Elladan. As a favor to me." At nine, Estel had still been content to play with toy soldiers, though even then he had managed the occasional surprise defeat of even Glorfindel and Elrohir, the acknowledged champion strategists of Imladris. Nine years since Elladan had beaten his baby brother at chess. Nine weeks since he had seen Estel, a swift and sure warrior now, the image of Arathorn, who had been Elladan's friend.

"There is no time, Mel." Elladan said softly, breaking with code names and other protocol. If this was the last he would speak to his friend, he would call the shy diplomat by name.

Just nine weeks Elladan had been gone that first time, when Elrohir was in Greenwood, and their father otherwise occupied by the wizard. Only Melpomaen had noticed the new nightmares, and had invited himself along on the second of the nine "errands" Elladan had undertaken for the Wizard. So eight beings became nine, Gandalf's informants, smoke over the border. Secret sniffers of hidden lies.

Ecthelion smelled the air, and sneezed. "They're close." The silvan elf was a talented healer, a good tracker, and a reckless warrior. Aran Thranduil's friend, he bore no weapons, for his King had forbidden him their use in Greenwood's service for nine years, penalty for disobeying a captain's order to let a patrol of orcs go. Elladan was ninety-nine times certain his cousin Aran Thranduil did not know where his friend Ecthelion was right now. No more did Lord Elrond know the true whereabouts of his second son.

Drawing a deep breath, Elladan chose death, that his friends might live. "I shall draw them off. You four lay low, wait until the group has passed. Then go as quickly as possible to the rendezvous point, but with Adrahil's survival your first priority."

Ecthelion looked unhappy, but he was more healer than warrior, and Adrahil would not survive without a healer's care. Orophin seemed lost, but in the manner that their nine journeys together had taught Elladan meant a vision, rather than reverie. Mel looked rebellious. "I will go with you." The normally soft-spoken junior adviser proclaimed.

Nine times Mel had ever spoken in that tone of voice. Nine times Mel had said that he was not a soldier. He certainly didn't obey like a soldier. Elrond's second son glared at his adviser, nine years in age between them.

"No." Orophin disagreed nine seconds later, walking out of the fog of what-might-be. "I will go with Elladan. There is another force of orcs coming from the north, nine times as strong. They are tracked by our fathers' soldiers. If we can slip through the lines, we may yet live. This is what I saw, nine journeys ago. This is why I am here."

Mel looked at Ecthelion, who could not hold Adrahil in the saddle by himself, and keep a bow ready to guard their backs. He cursed, nine words Elladan hadn't heard before. Erestor would disapprove, though he might be reluctantly impressed by Melpomaen's retentive memory. "Go, then." Mel rasped. "May we meet again." Nods only, no times for clasped arms or embraces before the two groups rode away from one another at best speed.

Elladan rode beside Orophin, remembering. Nine times that the middle of his mother's three adopted brothers had read him and his twin a bed-time story, in their long ago days as elflings. Nine fights between Haldir and Rumil that Orophin had broken up, for he was the diplomat of Daerada Celeborn's adopted sons. Galadriel training Orophin, and nine times Orophin had warned Elladan and Elrohir to leave off a prank, that it wouldn't end well. Nine times that Orophin had faltered in battle, taken by a vision.

"Keep your mind on your work." Elladan reminded his uncle, "We're to stay alive, Uncle Phin."

Orophin gave him a hurt look, but did not lose touch with reality again that day.

Nine landmarks; nine times doubling back over their trail. They might die today, but Elrohir's brother and Haldir's brother would make the orcs work hard to find them. The two shared a closely guarded secret; neither would have chosen the warrior life but for their beloved older brothers. But both had learned their lessons well.

A sigh of relief, nine miles on, as Mel flashed a mirror - the signal that the other half of their party was safely away. In the joy of that victory, Orophin grinned. "Bet you that we survive this." Elladan's adopted uncle wagered.

"And if we do?" The younger twin smirked through his exhaustion.

"If we do, YOU get to explain what we're doing in Mordor THIS time." Orophin decreed, a grin flashing as he tucked a dirt-streaked strawberry blond braid behind his ear.

"Ha." Elladan countered. "As if I can't do better than 'looking for flowers for Nana, Haldir, whatever are you doing here?,' Honestly, Orophin, you're lucky he only forbid you to bear arms for nine years. Were you Glorfindel's soldier, it would have been ninety years, or even a full century."

"It's not so easy to think on your toes when you're just glad you're alive." Galadriel's student and adopted son defended himself with a shrug. "Let's see you do better."

"First we have to live." Elladan reminded him.

Nine more hours of riding and fighting and dodging. Nine times that they nearly lost their seats. Elladan was the better rider, and pulled his light-haired friend to safety behind him when Orophin would have fallen. The Galadhrim were more likely to climb than ride, Orophin defended.

Nine times they tried to break through the lines, but the enemy was too many, and their tricks at last played out. Nine days the human Adrahil had held out; how long could Elladan and Orophin last? If they were rescued, would they still be sane?

Nine hours only was their test, before horns and pounding hooves came to their aid. Ninety nine elves and nine human rangers fought a hundred and fifty nine orcs, and the orcs lost the day.

Nine angry elves and one furious ranger treated their two injured comrades with gentle hands but fierce eyes. Nine different explanations flashed through Elladan's mind. "It was aversion therapy," He managed to explain to Elrohir, as Estel bound his wounds. "Orophin was scared of orcs, but now he's not, anymore."

Orophin choked. "That's much worse than flowers." He mumbled, evading his own brother's incredulous glare.

It was nine weeks before Elladan was truly healthy again. Nine weeks, ninety lectures, and nine trips over his father's knee. Nine days before he could sit without wincing. And Elrohir was still angry.

Then Estel met Arwen, and nine days later, Elrohir didn't know which sibling to be more angry with. Elladan himself couldn't fathom the change in their baby foster-brother and indomitable sister. He remembered nine year old Estel, playing with toy soldiers. Nineteen year old Arwen, pretending to marry a human king. Nine hundred and ninety-nine year old Arwen, Galadriel's apprentice, Orophin's fellow seer of visions. Had elfling Arwen seen her future, even at just nineteen years of age? Nine times destiny and one part chance. Not Estel's fault, not Arwen's. "Of the line of Luthien" just meant certain things, that was all. It could just have easily have been any of their Adar's children, and any of their distant cousins.

Forty-nine years before Elrohir forgave Elladan for that trip to Mordor, though Elladan never confessed to his having been there on the Wizard's bidding. Forty-nine years without Estel's laughter. Forty-nine years before they decided they were a family, despite the complications. Forty-nine years, wasted. He and Elrohir might have all the time in the world. Might. But forty-nine precious years of Estel's life, and Arwen's, wasted in fear they did not love Estel for his love of their sister. That was what Elladan could not forgive himself for.

Epilogue

"That's...a good story, Uncle 'Dan." Eldarion commented, wide-eyed. "But it didn't really have much to do with multiplication."

"No." Elladan agreed with a kind smile, "Which does, at least, show that you understand the theory."

A commotion caught their attention, and Eldarion ran to the window, then grinned in relief, running out onto a balcony on the other side of the hall. "Nana, 'Wyn, Thea, El, Miri, and 'Anna!" He yelled into the garden below, loud enough for his mother, sister-by-law, nieces, nephew, and sister to hear him, "Ada and Fara are home!"

And they were. Safe and sound, and so was Elladan's twin. And Elladan was glad, that Aragorn's young son had not had to learn how cruel a place the world could be, as his father once had, as a lad of only two years of age.


	2. Note to Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unhappy development cuts short an information gathering trip, during one of the earlier trips made by Gandalf's agents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place when Adrahil is a fairly young man, not long before Aragorn is born. So, approximately T.A. 2925. Please note that for the DH AU, I'm using an earlier year for Adrahil's birth (2890 instead of 2917), though I am still using about 3010 for his death. It was not at all unusual for Numenoreans to live to be up to 120 years old. For the DH AU, Imrahil was born in 2960 instead of 2955, and Aragorn leaves Gondor in 2985 instead of 2980.

"Note to self," Gasped Prince Adrahil, "Orcs can't be bribed."

Ecthelion's eyes widened as he carefully stitched a gash on the Prince's thigh, "Someday, mellon-nin, you will have to explain to me why on Arda you thought to even try."

Adrahil chuckled, and Ecthelion frowned and checked the label on the flask of sedative laced wine he had given to the Prince. Yes, it was the mild one, but perhaps laughing while having great gaping wounds sewn shut was just another peculiarity of Adrahil's. The young Prince's companion, Sergeant Tarostar, certainly seemed to be of that mind.

"Are you TRYING to get yourself killed, you idiot?" He reprimanded his Prince sharply. "Honestly, trying to reason with an orc."

Adrahil laughed, though his teeth were clenched in pain, "I once reasoned with Fengel-King of Rohan, and with the Doge of the Haven of the Corsairs. I figured an orc couldn't be that much different."

Tarostar looked like he was about to continue to berate his Prince, but then a floorboard squeaked in the hallway of the sub-par Inn. Tarostar lifted his sword, and even Adrahil plucked a dagger from somewhere, and made ready to defend his friends, if needed.

Ecthelion grinned. Adrahil and Tarostar reminded him of his young cousins, the way that they fought amongst themselves, but would always unite against an outside threat.

"Theli." The middle of those cousins bespoke him urgently, "We need to go, now. Only Elladan can pass for human, and the rest of us shouldn't be caught in this village, not with half of the country looking for Adrahil." Orophin's lips twitched with humor despite their dire situation. "You always said that you could ride in any condition, Adrahil. Here's your chance to prove it."

Adrahil groaned, but otherwise seemed game.

A week of riding saw them to their rendezvous point just outside Lothlorien.

Mithrandir was relieved that they had cut off this supply of the poison into Gondor, but quite displeased that they had lost the trail of the merchant who had sold certain substances to one of his archivist friends in Minas Tirith.

"We did our best, Mithrandir." Elladan defended his companions, "After all, it is hardly our fault that the orc Adrahil bribed simply did not stay bribed."

"I used the last of our good wine, too." Adrahil mourned in jest.

Gandalf sighed, but had to admit he could not have easily followed the trail even as far as these nine companions had. "My apologies, my friends," the wizard paused, "Perhaps you would be willing to try again, from the supply side? We have isolated several of the main ingredients to the poison, and they only grow in certain places..."

The five humans and four elves exchanged doubtful looks.

Adrahil chuckled, "Only if you want to explain to my father in detail exactly why you require my presence, Mithrandir." He offered, "Otherwise, he expects me home, to lead a fleet to Umbar for trade, this spring." Sergeant Tarostar sighed in relief, as did the other Dol Amroth man.

Elladan again spoke for the elves, "We're expected elsewhere, as well. We've given you a full year, Mithrandir. But if I don't spend some time with Arwen before rejoining my brother to help the Dunedain of Arnor this summer, Arwen will complain to our Adar. And Lord Elrond will wonder what research I am doing that is so fascinating that it leaves me no time for my baby sister. And if Melpomaen is not with me, that will not go unnoted."

Gandalf smiled encouragingly at Ecthelion and Orophin. Ecthelion smiled back. He liked Mithrandir well enough, though he did not trust him entirely. But he trusted him more than he had, before they started helping the Wizard to spy on the Enemy. Still, Ecthelion was pretty sure his King would take a dim view of this entire matter of helping the Wizard. That was why Ecthelion had not asked for Thranduil's permission, and Ecthelion was pretty sure Mithrandir was not willing to risk his assistance in future endeavors, to try to gain a permission that would not be forthcoming. "Sorry, Mithrandir." Ecthelion offered, "I am promised to attend my King as an advisor, this spring, and to assist with the training of two apprentice healers. And I do not think Orophin and our other human friends should attempt such an endeavor on their own."

Orophin frowned at his cousin. Cousin Theli was only a few hundred years older than Orophin, and had no real call to tell Orophin what to do, in Orophin's opinion.

Ecthelion sighed, and made the effort to speak just to Orophin, mind-to-mind. *I mean without a trained healer in the group, 'Phin.* He pointed out.

Orophin's frown disappeared, and he nodded subtly back. Considering that either Ecthelion or Elladan had patched up over half of the nine group members in the course of their first three errands for the Wizard, Orophin couldn't argue with that logic.

So Mithrandir had to accept that further pursuing the source of the poison which had killed several important human lords of Gondor would have to wait for new leads in a new year. His agents were among the most capable and creative of elves and men, and were highly in demand amongst their own respective peoples. And Gandalf knew that Elrond Peredhel and King Thranduil of the Greenwood would not approve of the tasks he had set their son and friends. Nor would Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien, Lord Erestor of Imladris, or Prince Angelimir of Dol Amroth be at all pleased, if they knew the true nature of the errands their sons were running for the Wizard.

"Until next time, then." The Wizard bid his nine agents farewell, and beseeched that the Valar protect them all, on their way back to their homes (and especially Adrahil, who was constitutionally incapable of leaving a bar without becoming falling down drunk and belligerent, when not engaged in some challenging inquiry or in the active command of a ship). It was true that Gandalf didn't want to explain to any of Elrond, Erestor, Galadriel, Celeborn, Thranduil, and Angelimir what had happened to their sons or retainers. But it was more true that the Wizard had come to love all nine of these agents quite dearly, and wanted them safe for their own sake. Though he would ask them to aid him again, when the next lead came along. And they would say yes, six more times.


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A captive of the Witch-King has a welcome few hours' respite with some friendly ghosts, or at least that's what he thinks they are, in his delirium. Although he does wonder why, if his subconscious was going to come up with beautiful ellith to tend him, one of them has red hair. After all, ellith generally don't, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in about T.A. 2955 or 2956, at which point, in the DH AU, Aragorn is 25, pursuing some particularly objectionable yrch back into Mordor with a group of Dunedain, and is about to run into a patrol from Greenwood, including Elrohir and Legolas, who are doing much the same thing. Together with a patrol from Lothlorien, they will save Elladan and Orophin from yrch in "Counting by Nines," Chapter 1 of this story. This chapter is set maybe two days before "Counting by Nines." Aragorn will meet Arwen soon, but he hasn't yet, which is a difference from canon.
> 
> The man called Diya in this story is Adrahil, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth's father. Diya is his spy name. Mithrellas and Rian will be rescued less than a year after the Ring War, as briefly detailed in "Oh good, that worked," in "Tales of the Telcontars."

Interlude in a cavern under Minas Ithil

"If I survive...my Ada is going to kill me." The red-haired man murmured. Well, Mithrellas could tell he was red haired, normally. Well over 2500 years of living imprisoned in the dark had sharpened her already keen elven sense of smell to a high level. Mithrellas could smell the dark blue flowers that were used to create the black hair dye, if one was allergic to the more common indigo. As Imrazor had been, and this man was one of Imrazor's descendants. And therefore, one of hers.

"Shh, brave one." Mithrellas murmured to her long-son, whose name she didn't know, didn't want to know, because she was the Witch-King's captive, too. And his spies might be listening here, in their underground prison. "I am sure he will not kill you. I am sure he loves you, and is very proud to have fathered such a valiant and strong son as you."

"'M not valiant. I'm a merchant in the wrong place." The blue-eyed man told her confidently. Well, Mithrellas knew he was blue-eyed, because she could tell from the dilation of his eyes, and the tiny specks of blue beginning to show through the dark brown, that he'd used a chemical to dye his eyes, too. This human man had Mithrellas' eyes, Mithrellas' hair. And Imrazor's smile, when he lied.

"Of COURSE you are, darling." Mithrellas assured him. If this man was a merchant, she was an orc.

The man's intelligent, feverish eyes sharpened, "I am. I sell fine-quality steel swords and arrow tips, from Umbar."

"Let's talk about your Ada, instead, hmm, my courageous one? " Mithrellas gently prompted, not wanting this brave Gondorian spy to have to keep his story straight, so hurt and drugged. And also wanting to hear more of his home life...but nothing that would identify who he was to the Witch-King or his foul minions. Just that he had an Ada who loved him, worried over him. An Ada and a happy life..."No names, dear merchant. Just tell me of your Ada, if you would."

"My...Ada. He's...smart, quiet." The man named Diya laughed painfully, but there was a light of joy in his eyes, thinking those happier thoughts, "He never knew what to do with me. I was never quiet." He confessed to Mithrellas.

She smiled, "I suspect you come by that honestly, sweet one."

"No." He told her earnestly, "My Naneth was quiet, too. But I did have a great-grandfather who was, um, not. Or something like that. And my Ada's mistress, isn't. Quiet, that is. Her kids aren't quiet either, I like them. But I think two or three of them are my half-sibs."

Mithrellas was mildly horrified, but tried to hide it. She couldn't imagine a long-son of Imrazor's cheating on his wife with a mistress.

"Oh, it's not like that." The poor suffering Diya comforted Mithrellas, "My Naneth and he...they weren't a love match. Nana has a lover too, but they didn't have any children. She couldn't, after me. My Ada and my Naneth's lover are friends, and my Nana and my Ada's mistress go shopping together. Its weird, but um, they're both happy, and discreet. And they both love me. It just makes me mad, that I can't recognize my half-sibs."

That was mind-boggling, but Mithrellas supposed as long as no one was being hurt...it strengthened her suspicion that this man was a highly ranked descendant of Imrazor, but did not confirm it. After all, Mithrellas had known even craftsmen to contract loveless marriages between their children, though it had never made sense to her. She'd married a human, and had children, despite her own questionable bloodline. Who was she to criticize someone else's romantic choices? Still, Galador and Gilmith had been fine children, and Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil, Mithrellas' nephews, had shown no taint, either. Perhaps Imrazor was right, and evil could not be inherited. This man seemed decent, and good, if possessed of an ...odd, sense of humor. And a unique family. "Your Naneth loves you too, hmm? Quiet though she is?" Mithrellas asked gently, trying to keep "Diya's" mind off of her cousin Rian, who was binding his wounds as gently as possible, but without anesthetic...it could not be comfortable.

"Umm...hmm. She did. She died, a few years ago. Just me an' Ada now." But Mithrellas saw shadows of children, three happy children, in his eyes. A tall blond daughter, a little girl with red-gold hair and green eyes the exact shade of Mithrellas' own grandmother Heddwyn's. And a little boy, barely more than a tot, with dark brown hair and laughing gray eyes. She did not speak of them, and neither did he. "Ada....who is going to kill me. He, umm, told me not...not to go trading, here."

"I'm sure he won't kill you, Diya muin." Mithrellas soothed, "He might be very angry with you, as this was a poor place to...trade, but he would never harm you." Trading, in Mordor. Eru, yet this "Diya" had made the yrch believe it, as this was his second visit. Imrazor's golden tongue, in this long-son's foolhardy head.

"Diya" huffed a laugh, murmuring a thank you to Rian as she carefully bound a wound on his leg. "Of course not...Ada would never truly harm me. He's going to paddle me something fierce, though. He...he went to every carpenter and leather worker in....town. Until he found the stingiest paddle, that would leave no bruise, no mark. The most...ouch, for the least lasting pain." Diya swallowed painfully, but his eyes were amused. A bit horrified, but still amused. "When he was...very drunk, Ada...he said.. he had...his mistress, try the paddle on HIM." Diya laughed, and Mithrellas was shocked into a laugh as well.

"He loves you so much he would not use something to punish you, that he had not felt himself was not too bad, eh, little one?" She asked, tenderly brushing a lock of damp hair from his forehead. She and Rian had bathed the human gently, when the yrch first brought him back. Now he was wrapped in a warm cloak they'd bartered from an orc, in exchange for medical care. Keeping him clean and warm would ward off infection, and he'd asked them to help him stay alive. Most asked for death, but not this man. And Mithrellas and Rian were better at helping life, anyway. They were ellith, not yrch, after all.

"That's...what he said. Because I am...not quiet." Diya gasped, "Ada said he needed something...to make me think. But he'd never want me hurt." He whimpered. "Ada's going to be so mad..."

"Ai, ammelda." Mithrellas murmured, pressing a mother's kiss to her long-son's brow. "Your Ada will be proud. He will forgive you, you will see. It is what edair do." Mithrellas was sure that it was what edair of Imrazor's line would do.

The man called Diya blinked at her, tears in his eyes, and Mithrellas wondered how much more this man could take. "I'm...tired. And I hurt, oh I hurt." He whispered, and Mithrellas' heart ached for him.

"We'll do what we can for you, tithen pen muin." Mithrellas' cousin Rian said gently. "We have little to ease your pain, but take one deep breath, then another. That's it, look at my forehead, between my eyes. Focus just there. One breath, hold, another, and...he's out, Ella." The silver-blonde elleth said gently to her cousin. "Asleep, for now. And he can take a lot more, by the way. He's strong, and he still thinks he'll survive. And he's....of strong stock."

Mithrellas took a deep breath, and hoped desperately that Diya's faith in his ability to survive, his faith that someone was coming for him, would not prove unjustified.

Not long after, the orc lieutenant came, and took Diya again. They tortured him under the sky, trying to lure his friends into coming out of hiding. But Diya didn't come back, and neither did the orc lieutenant, to brag of his death. In fact, the imprisoned ellith never saw that orc lieutenant again.

A few days later, Mithrellas and Rian smiled as they'd not smiled in years, when they heard the Witch-King's yrch murmuring discontentedly that their captive had escaped, that the yrch taken great losses trying to regain him, and failed. And then they heard the rages of the Witch-King, and knew that it was true. Diya was safe, away. He might not live, he was very near too injured for that. But he would not die a prisoner.

"I wish I could have told him..." Mithrellas murmured.

"He lived." Rian said starkly, triumphantly. "He thought we were ghostly hallucinations, but he lived, Ella. One who lived, who escaped, in thousands of years. Its a good day. Just let it be."

Mithrellas looked at her cousin, the formerly flighty, thoughtless Rian, and smiled gently. "Yes. He was one in a million, and he comes by it honestly."


	4. A Detour and Some Melons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slave children weren't on the shopping list.

Elladan wondered if this was how his father and Glorfindel felt, when he or Elrohir had done something absurd.

"You...bought two slaves." Elladan carefully asked Adrahil and Ecthelion. Elladan had only sent them out to check a blind drop one more time, and to buy some food and wine, while he worked on what they should do next. When the two had departed, Ecthelion (more often called Theli) had been rhapsodizing about fresh melons, and Adrahil had been arguing in favor of better wine. Slaves had not been on the shopping list.

Theli had the grace to wince, but Adrahil just smiled, "Of course we did. Best informants we've ever had, and they were relatively cheap, too. All they want is that we take them home to their families, and really, that's the right thing to do anyway."

Elladan counted to ten in Sindarin. Then Quenya. Then Adunaic, which his cousins Valandil and Eldacar had taught him, and Khuzdul, which he'd learned from his mother. Then, when Elladan finally thought he could speak without grabbing Adrahil - or Theli- and shaking him hard, he asked, "You embarked on a rescue mission when we are already late to our rendezvous point? You did so, knowing that Orophin, Melpomaen, and your countrymen may well leave without us, if we are late, SINCE THEY WILL THINK THAT WE ARE DEAD!"

"Oh, calm down, Elladan." This was Theli, and that was his humor and handle voice, the one he used with Elaldan's cousin Thranduil when Thranduil was in a temper. Elladan resented it being used on himself, when he was only understandably upset.

Theli quickly continued, "Little Bahadur was clearly not born a slave. In point of fact, he is the son of a Bey, a Lord of the Haradrim. A Lord who will be very grateful that we have retrieved his son...perhaps even 'tell us where the Haradrim are getting the antidotes we're interested in,' grateful."

Elladan sighed, but could at least see the benefit in that. And, if Elladan were truthful with himself, the mere fact that the Haradrim sold people, including children, bothered him a lot, too. But honestly, this was not the time to take a social stand. Adrahil was certifiably a lunatic and Elladan was coming to expect this kind of insanity from him, but Theli was centuries older than Elladan himself, and should for cursed sure have known better than to draw attention to themselves by buying slaves that they then had to take time to return. But if it were part of the mission, they'd just have to make do, and hope their friends waited, and that Gandalf could once again cover their absence. "And the little girl?' Elladan asked Adrahil and Theli, more calmly now.

"It was two for one!" Adrahil joked. Elladan would have smacked him, but Theli got there first.

"Ouch!" Adrahil yelped, rubbing his now smarting backside, then complaining "Theli, that hurt. You normally have a better sense of humor."

"Oh, I cannot wait to get you back to your keeper, tithen mellon nin ..." Theli hissed at Adrahil, before turning to Elladan, "'Dan, the little girl is Bahadur's good friend, like a gwathel. He wouldn't go without her, so we had to buy, erm, rescue, her, too."

Elladan sighed, and rubbed his aching head. Elladan also missed Sergeant Tarostar, who had the best grasp on how to keep Adrahil's sense of humor and adventure from driving them all crazy. At length, Elladan concluded, "Well, sounds like we need to return Bahadur, hope that his family will take in Raisa, and also give us some information. Sounds like a plan. Now, does anyone have any clever ideas for how to contact Melpomaen, Orophin, and the others, to let them know that we'll be late?"'

Adrahil considered that, blessedly quiet as his clever mind worked. Theli, who with Elladan's increasingly expert application of cosmetics, could somehow be made to look human enough to pass without comment on the streets of Harad, reluctantly offered, "If you can help me get into a meditative state, I can maybe contact cousin Phin."

Elladan blinked, "Can you, now?" He murmured thoughtfully, "From well over a hundred miles away...does my Daernana know you can do that?'

Theli looked sick to his stomach, "No. Morgoth's balls, Elladan, I don't know for sure that I can. I maybe can...please don't tell her. I," Theli paused to shudder, "She'd want to train me, and I don't have...whatever it is that Orophin has, and Arwen has. I just don't...it would hurt, her looking for it, and just disappoint her, 'cause it's not there."

"Well enough," Elladan soothed, a bit worried about how dead white Theli had gone under the tannish brown color Elladan had carefully blended into his normally pale elven skin, "No telling Daernaneth. You just relax and think of Orophin." 

"Like an anxious virgin elleth on her wedding night." Adrahil quipped, and Theli huffed an indignant, horrified laugh, as Adrahil exchanged a look with Elladan. If Theli could contact his cousin, that would save them time and trouble. But one try, and that was it, because even the idea of trying obviously upset their normally easy-going companion, and the two commanders, elven and human, of Gandalf's agents knew that they were stuck in enemy territory, with only eachother to rely on. They couldn't afford to have any of them in poor shape.

Three weeks later, Elladan, Theli, and Adrahil had returned the children, gotten the information they were hoping for, confirmed it, and were meeting their fellow agents at an inn in Ithilien, just over the Gondor side of the border.

Melpomaen greeted Elladan, infinitely relieved but also quietly furious, "Where have you been, gwador laes?" he demanded of Elladan, "Three weeks ago, Orophin woke up from a dream-vision to tell us that Theli said you'd be weeks late because you had bought the wrong melons and had to return them!"

Elladan and Adrahil looked to Theli, who shrugged and mumbled that he'd warned them he was bad at the elven mindspeech osanwe, and that maybe he'd been hungry and thinking of melons when he tried to reach Orophin.

Fortunately, throughout the course of their other missions, the nine informants only rarely had to rely on Theli's ability to contact Orophin over long distances. Although, when they did, the "melon incident" was sadly one of Theli's less garbled attempts at communication. 

Elladan was very tempted, at times, to tell his grandmother that she had another potential pupil, just to watch with amusement as Galadriel attempted to deal with Theli's inconsistent mental efforts. However, the fact that Elladan was quite sure his grandmother did not not know what they were up to stopped him cold. Galadriel could be ruthless, but Elladan was pretty sure she would have at least made sure Gandalf was being a little careful with her adopted son, her grandson, her grandson's gwador, her cousin Thranduil's junior healer, and an important human Prince, not to mention four other humans. So Elladan kept quiet.


	5. Healers, Soldiers, Spies, and a Seven Year Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finduilas of Dol Amroth is not an ordinary child, and she needs the Lady Galadriel's help. Badly enough to hitch a ride with her father and his fellow spies on a desperate mission for the Wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> "If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards'." - Terry Pratchett
> 
> "She was already learning that if you ignore the rules people will, half the time, quietly rewrite them so that they don't apply to you." - Terry Pratchett
> 
> The primary prerequisite for becoming a witch or a wizard is a will of steel. We're not talking confident- we're talking about someone who is normally described, even by those who love them well, as entirely too stubborn for their own good.

Elladan Elrondion was beyond weary, and worried besides. He and his comrade Adrahil had been forced to leave Elladan's cousin Orophin, his sworn-brother Melpomaen, and most of Adrahil's companions alone behind enemy lines in Harad. There had been no choice, really. Elladan, Adrahil, and Tarostar were closest to the border of the enemy lands, and someone needed to return to Lothlorien's libraries and gardens for recipes and herbs that grew only there, to trade for information that Gandalf's spies dearly needed. 

To gather more ingredients, they had been forced to take a circuitous path back to Lothlorien, and were only now in the foothills of the White Mountains in Gondor. 

"There's a decent-sized down with a fine-enough inn near the mouth of the River Ringlo." Said Prince Adrahil hopefully. 

Sergeant Tarostar rolled his eyes, as did Elladan. Adrahil loved inns. He was addicted to dice games, card games, dart games, and any other game of chance that had ever been invented, as well as some he'd made up himself. He was very good at them, unless he was falling down drunk. Unfortunately, he liked to get falling-down drunk, in which circumstance he still won, most of the time, but his fiery temper and his quick tongue got them all into so much trouble that there were more inns than Elladan could count which Adrahil, and correspondingly his companions, had been banned from. At least under one set of aliases. For someone so spirited, Adrahil could take on an entirely different persona when he had to. 

But, to the best of Elladan's knowledge, Adrahil had never been thrown out of this particular inn. And besides, Elladan wanted a warm, dry bed for the evening as well. Lord Elrond's second son was accustomed to roughing it when he had to, but he had ever preferred his comforts, however rudimentary a Gondorian inn might be compared to the silk sheets and singing waterfalls of Imladris. 

So Elladan acquiesced to Adrahil's request, despite Tarostar's reservations. They soon found themselves in a decent-enough bedchamber of the clean but dreary inn, but they were not the chamber's first occupants. No, there was a little girl on the bed nearest the door. A little girl with hair the color of a fox's bright fur, and eyes as gray-green as laurel leaves in dappled shade. 

"Hello, Ada." She greeted Adrahil, whose jaw had dropped open in surprise. Tarostar was in a like state, but perhaps from long practice dealing with Adrahil and all of Adrahil's antics, he regained his equilibrium first. 

"Princess Finduilas, how in the name of all the Valar did you get here?" Tarostar scolded the little girl. 

"I got rides with the traders, going from Dol Amroth towards the mountains." The little girl explained. 

Adrahil went to embrace her and sit beside her, scolding, "Fin, not everyone is nice to little girls. You need to be more careful. We'll have to...." 

"Don't worry, Ada," The child interrupted, "I can tell who the bad people are, and I stayed away from them. Best for them that they stayed away from me, too." 

Elladan was Elrohir's brother, Glorfindel's lieutenant, Galadriels' grandson, and Arwen's brother. He was not easily scared. But the fierce gleam in this pretty little girl's eyes....it was downright disturbing.

His friend Adrahil, though initially taken aback, seemed to be mostly taking this in stride. Eru, Elladan was glad that all human children were not this terrifying, though Estel had certainly had his moments. This little girl reminded of Arwen, as well, and of how their father hadn't believed that their little sister would sometimes pull out her frightening "junior prophetess" act in order to frighten them, or to get what she wanted. Elrond had not been best pleased with Arwen when he had found out at last - it was one of the few times Arwen had gotten into real trouble with their father. But Elladan had the uncomfortable feeling that Finduilas of Dol Amroth wasn't acting. 

Adrahil, who had been further interrogating his daughter, shook his head and lectured, "Fin, you can't, you just can't, just decide to up and decamp the castle to follow me, leaving a note for Miri that you've gone to join Ada on his trading trip, and you'll be back later."

"I know where you and your friends are going," Finduilas replied in a cool, dismissive tone, "You're the fire-bearer's dogs. I only need travel as far as the immortal wood, but I need to go there. I am not sure why, or why it has to be now, but if I can't go with you, I'll go by myself. The birds will show me the way, and the trees have promised to give me safe passage.

Adrahil cursed long and creatively, to the extent that Tarostar winced and protested, and even Elladan was slightly amazed. 

In the end, Adrahil accused Finduilas, "Your sister never caused me this much trouble and worry."

"And my brother shall cause you less, until he causes you more," Finduilas said levelly, "Now, may I accompany you, or shall we race?"

Elladan blinked. "I did not know that you had been blessed with a son, Adrahil mellon-nin. Congratulations." 

"I haven't." Replied Adrahil, before turning back to his daughter, "Fin, what brother?" 

"He'll be born in the spring. You should let Nana name him."

After that, Elladan just had to put his saddle bags down and laugh at Adrahil. "I think that your children must be the Valar's vengeance upon you for being, well, you," He told Adrahil, in between chuckles. 

"Thank you," Said Adrahil dryly, while Finduilas smiled charmingly. A small, feminine version of Adrahil's winning smile, with dimples. It was a wonder, Elladan thought to himself, that her father had ever been able to deny her anything.


	6. A Seeress and a Seven Year Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Finduilas asks for Galadriel's aid, and shares a truth - sometimes you have to give up great power to win, even though it is counter-intuitive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> "Does the prophet see the future or does he see a line of weakness, a fault or cleavage that he may shatter with words or decisions as a diamond-cutter shatters his gem with a blow of a knife?" ~ Frank Herbert in Dune
> 
> "Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space." - Margaret Atwood
> 
> "It is at night that faith in light is admirable." ~ Edmond Rostand

Twilight was a strange time; neither day nor night. The stars and the sun were both shy, but there was light enough to see her mirror by. Galadriel had meant to scry, until the sun's last rays conceded to the glittering stars. Yet something had summoned her....away from her mirror, and near to one of the paths that led to the borders of her lands. Her seer-son was still missing, on some errand for Mithrandir, yet her grandson Elladan had returned, with a companion. 

The wind moved through the mallorn trees, bringing whispers of things which had been, things which were, and things which might someday come to be. And the faint smell of vanilla and the sea....

A small child followed in the wake of the breeze, her delicate hand clasped in Elladan's broad, calloused palm. Her hair flowed loose, save for two braids pulled back, elven style. She wore a forest-green kirtle and cloak over a light blue shift, but it was her eyes which captured Galadriel's attention. Gray-green, like Orophin's. Like the eyes of his aunt, Mithrellas, and her daughter, Gilmith. The girl had red-gold hair, many shades lighter than Mithrellas', but....there was something about the face. Elven blood had a way of lingering on down through the generations. 

Elladan began to speak, but a mere twitch of Galadriel's fingertips stopped him. She knew, now, that this was the Prince Adrahil's daughter, but little more. Which in and of itself was interesting. 

*Who are you?* She asked the girl, in silent words which few elves could understand, let alone a human child. 

The girl smiled, happy and shy and bold, all at the once. *I am who and what you suspect that I am. Her line bore what you came to suspect, and it bloomed full grown in me. I do not know why.*

Galadriel considered that, thinking of Nimrodel and her visions, and Nimrodel's fears which had sent the elves to Belfalas, to befriend this child's daring long-father and leave their mark upon the shores. Imrazor and Mithrellas' heirs had been quite fertile, some of them. Mithrandir had been marrying cousin-to-cousin in Dol Amroth and the falas for over three hundred years, perhaps hoping for an outcome like this. A calculated risk; the last such human seer from this line had been near insane. 

*Why are you here, child?* Galadriel asked. 

The girl tilted her head inquisitively, as if not quite sure how to explain. *I was born so reflective that I was almost fragmented,* she began, showing Galadriel images of crystalline pitchers and rainbow prisms, *Never whole but still beautiful. You were born whole and then broken, bright Lady, but you didn't let the breaking end you. It should have. In some timelines, it did.* 

Galadriel was still silent, but the winds whispered around her. *What do you want of me, Finduilas of Dol Amroth?* 

The girl squared her shoulders, certain now, *I want you to help me do to my mind what horror did to yours, only different. I want you to help me close doors in my mind, where terror opened them in yours. You are the only one who can help me. You were a window, but became a door. I am a door, I must become only a window in a wall.* 

It was an odd request. The opposite of what Mithrandir had hoped for, but Galadriel was not Mithrandir. 

*Do you know what it is that you ask for?* She interrogated sternly, for this was not a decision to be made lightly, perhaps not even one a child should make at all. But it was Finduilas' own mind; if she had not the right, then who did? Prophecy and visions such as hers were no easy burden. 

Finduilas nodded, *I know that I need to become less of what I am, and more a human woman. I must bear children. Middle Earth does not need me as a great seer; it needs my sons for their swords and their hearts.*

It was a good reason, a noble reason, but still....the child must understand. *People would sell their souls for your gift.* 

The little girl tilted her chin, stubbornly determined. *I would sell my soul that we might have a better chance at a future. If the price was right.*

*Very well. I can help you to do what you ask. But I must warn you, you may never see as clearly again. It will be like going half-blind, for you.*

*So be it,* said the child, and so they began. 

The preparations took a week. First meditation, and then Galadriel combing through Finduilas' mind, noting where and what must be smoothed over, drawn back together. Knitted and heated until it was whole, not fragmented. Walls where once there had been doors, with only windows open to the future. 

*You can still turn back.* Galadriel reminded the little girl, as she tucked her into bed for the last night before they took the irrevocable step. 

Finduilas' pretty little face was uncertain, but only for a moment. Then she gathered her resolve, and said that she would continue. 

Galadriel had trouble falling asleep that night. What Finduilas asked would hurt, there was no way to avoid it, and it would be a loss. Galadriel did not know if she had the right, or if it was the right thing to do. When she moved onto the path of dreams at last, she heard a woman's voice speaking to her, light and sweet. A hand took Galadriel's hand, the fingers lightly smudged by ink, and drew her to a room in a tower. A fire burned, and lanterns gleamed. Three books were open on a table, and the grown Finduilas of Dol Amroth, gray-green eyes sparkling with wit and warmth. 

"It has been a long time, Bright Lady." Finduilas said, her sweet child's grin blossomed into a woman's gracious smile. 

Galadriel was shaken. This was not how seeing the future worked. The visions one saw did not reach out and try to communicate with the viewer - only Sauron tried that. And, from the friendly impish smile on this woman's face at Galadriel's surprise, this was NOT Sauron. 

Finduilas laughed lightly, "You worry too much about the rules, Great Lady. Understandable, I suppose. I don't know them all, so I've no reason to play by them. Probably I wouldn't, even if I did. Rules are just guidelines, sometimes other things are more important. Like having the opportunity to tell you this. That I do not regret the choice you are about to let me make. NONE of it. Even with my sacrifice, probably it will all end badly. Probably my sons and your sons and grandsons will die, and everything will drown in darkness and blood, all that still live mere slaves to Sauron. But, several decades in the future from making my choice with your aid, I still believe there is a slim chance that it won't. And I will live in that chance, and do what I can to make it happen. And I will remember that unexpected strategies, great sacrifices, unprecedented bravery, may yet win the day, and rewards undreamed of. The dark one does not understand friendship, or giving up one's own advantages in the service of something greater. And while I can, I will dance in the sun light, and sing under the moon, and teach my sons to see life's beauty, that they may endure through the darkness." 

Hearing that, in a place out of time, gave Galadriel renewed hope. The next day she helped Finduilas to close the doors in her mind and leave but mere windows, and then bid the little girl a fond farewell when Elladan returned to reclaim her. 

Finduilas paused and turned back, one little hand pushing the hood of her cloak back down. "Lady Galadriel,"

"Princess Finduilas." Galadriel said with a grave nod, inviting the girl to continue. 

"Give them everything you've got, when the time comes. Even if your place is not in the front lines, nor your warriors, there may be a role for you to play. Do not stint." 

"I will not." Galadriel promised this strange human child.

"And, remember that great and unprecedented acts, and friendships, may yield unprecedented rewards."

"What do you mean, child?"

Finduilas smiled. "I've no idea. I often don't, and even less now that I am diminished. But it may make sense, in time. Not in my time, I don't think, which may be short. But in yours."

Galadriel nodded gravely. As Finduilas walked away hand-in-hand with her grandson, she touched the girl's mind gently. 

*Fare thee well, Finduilas of Dol Amroth.*

The child turned her head, smiled, and said, *Guard Middle Earth well, Great Lady.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The terrible events which happened to Galadriel as a child are explained in "Not a Single Hair," link below. Please check the warnings before reading. 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/225657


End file.
